Lord Ogren sat on his dias, in a private estate in Karak Kadrin which he bought from the dwarves, much to their reluctance. They could not protest, after seeing what ogres do best, in the Bloody Battle of the Backdoor Tunnel, which it was now being called.
He sipped his amasec, testing its body and flavour, rolling the savoury spirit in his mouth with his tongue. The huge ogre; he was more man-like than ogre; was deep in thought. The Bloody Battle of the Backdoor Tunnel had cost him dearly, a score of dead and wounded Gnoblar, and Beetlejuice the VIIth, his shaman, had imploded, or exploded, quite spectacularly. To train another cadre of shaman, that would take years.
How long could he live this life? This life of gratuitous slaughter. It was fun, he had to admit, to kill, and to rip and rend and mutilate. Lord Ogren particularly liked squeezing heads of screaming elves, till pink jelly ran out of their ears, and their pretty eyes burst out of their sockets. His thoughts went astray for awhile, to elf women, dwarf women, even gnoblar women, the way they all screamed when he ravaged them. He must be truly manly, to make even elf girls scream like that. He never fantasized about ogre women though, they were too… unbecoming.
He rubbed the wound on his arm thoughtfully, the gash was still weeping from the blow a stray cut Manick had dealt him. Fucking chaos fucks. He had made sure he paid Manick back in kind - with a glorious smash to the chest.
Chaos. The word ran his blood hot, made him clench his fists. He crushed the crystal decanter, spilling amasec all over his pajamas. He had the urge to cause some major violence. He could never forget that night, no matter how hard he’d tried. He still remembered the sounds and the screams, and the leering faces of the chaos warriors. He’d lost everything that night, his family, his friends. Manick would pay. They all would.